"The Only Constant" by Marisol Brady
Jim Tells Huck Finn a Bedtime Story by Matthew Johnson
The raft is a magic carpet, and we are pirates
And independent, I am made.
The river, raising and raising, ten or 12 days,
Far over all the banks and dams,
Ascending so high,
That on the way up, we’re plucking apples from the top of trees,
And we hear the secrets that the birds divulge
As they fly their separate ways.
And upon seeing that horizon,
Pelting us so brightly in its golden that it’s not blinding,
But it’s a light that opens our eyes, like the face of God,
That we forget our bitter histories, and all of Mississippi.
And independent, I am made.
The river, raising and raising, ten or 12 days,
Far over all the banks and dams,
Ascending so high,
That on the way up, we’re plucking apples from the top of trees,
And we hear the secrets that the birds divulge
As they fly their separate ways.
And upon seeing that horizon,
Pelting us so brightly in its golden that it’s not blinding,
But it’s a light that opens our eyes, like the face of God,
That we forget our bitter histories, and all of Mississippi.
Matthew Johnson's poetry has appeared in Maudlin House, Front Porch Review, and elsewhere. A two-time Best of the Net Nominee, his debut collection, 'Shadow Folks and Soul Songs', (Kelsay Books) was released in 2019. His second poetry collection is scheduled for release in Fall 2022 by New York Quarterly. @Matt_Johnson_D https://www.matthewjohnsonpoetry.com
Marisol Brady is a self-taught photographer whose work examines the ephemerality of capitalist excess, nostalgic distortion, times we’ve had, times we’ve been told we had, and the time we have left. They cast an optimistic, neon-lensed glance at the decay precipitated by the hyper-escalating economic inequality and planetary destruction of the past four decades that, with some squinting, recognizes its transformative potential. Originally hailing from Long Island’s south shore, Marisol lives in Brooklyn.
